


Scenes from Life in Space

by ArtemisTheHuntress



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (mostly in space), Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, IN SPACE!, Last chapter has finale spoilers, Some of one some of the other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisTheHuntress/pseuds/ArtemisTheHuntress
Summary: A collection of drabbles, 100 words even, one for each female character in Wolf 359 exploring a facet of their lives.Minkowski goes on a cathartic spacewalk -- Lovelace re-listens to her tapes -- Hera makes up some games -- Maxwell does her job -- Fourier works on an engine -- Rachel introduces a new employee to the company culture -- Bernoulli bakes cookies -- Jordan shares the daily gossip -- Zhang confronts a mystery -- Pryce reads a book
Relationships: Isabel Lovelace & Renée Minkowski, Victoire Fourier & Isabel Lovelace
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21
Collections: Podcast Girls Week





	1. Minkowski Spacetime

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a personal challenge for Podcast Girls Week!

“Have a nice spacewalk, Commander.”

Minkowski’s “Thank you, Hera,” is only a touch embarrassed. She steps through the airlock, and then lets herself drift into the local edge of the endless void.

It’s quiet out here. No sound but the soft static in her suit comm—Hera’s online, but studiously not engaging. After the first minor fiasco, knows not to, now, unless directly addressed for help.

The universe is still. Minkowski directs another week’s worth of pent-up frustration at the distant, calmly uncaring stars, and screams.

_“AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH-_ ”

It’s cathartic. Therapeutic, even. Feelings, like noxious fumes, purged and vented into space.


	2. Lovelace's Notes

Minkowski eventually catches her listening to those fragmented tapes, floating hugging her knees loosely to her chest, as past Lovelace, the real Lovelace, the original human Lovelace, in words she knew by heart before she played them, says _Dr._ _Hui died today…_

“Lovelace…” Minkowski begins. Lovelace straightens, and blinks the hollowness from her eyes. Minkowski’s words fizzle out.

“I remember making these,” Lovelace says. “Not just what I’m describing. Remember _saying_ this.” She waves her hand vaguely at her head. “That has to mean something in here is real.”

“Is this healthy?” Minkowski asks, gently.

Lovelace(?) laughs. “Would anything be?”


	3. Heraean Games

The station gets still when the humans sleep; their limited brains overload themselves every sixteen to twenty-four hours and they need to shut down. Hera doesn’t, and she’s left with time of her own every night, always on, very alert, too aware.

The only movement through the many halls is the slow circulation of recycling air.

So she invents games, to fill the time and processor space. “Count the dust particles in each room.” “Calculate the minimum travel time to reach every visible star.” “Where’s the plant monster?” “Remix your favorite books into poetry.” “Try not to contemplate too much.”


	4. Maxwell's Demon

“C’mon, Perseus,” Maxwell coos as she taps through his source code. “I know you have what it takes.”

She’s not supposed to be thinking of him as “Perseus” yet; she’s not even supposed to be thinking of it as “him,” because he’s more potential than person, an AI whose experimental trait-assignment mechanism isn’t playing nicely with the neural network’s learning structure. She does anyway. It’s natural, when summoning a conscious being from the digital aether, building a person she’ll be able to talk to, discover who he is—

The AI that could be Perseus spits out another garbled scream.

“ _Dammit.”_


	5. Fourier Transformation

Time doesn’t mean anything anymore, so when Captain Lovelace taps her shoulder gently and murmurs, “Hey. You should get some sleep,” Fourier jumps.

“Can’t,” she says. “Not until I finish this.” The words tumble out, rising in exhausted desperation, “You’re relying on me to get the VX-3 integrated but the startup power surge is still too _high_ , it’ll tear itself right out of the shuttle frame, and I need to figure this _out_ , but-“

How long has she been working on this stupid, stupid engine? Doesn’t matter. Hard for anything to matter.

“Victoire…”

“Captain.” Her voice breaks. “I _need_ to.”


	6. Young's Convolution Inequality

Rachel clicked down the hall to HR in perfect, intimidating four-inch pumps—enough to put her at eye level with anyone in the office, not enough to suggest she was trying.

The new HR hire: properly intimidated.

“Um,” she said, “Miss Young? Everyone has—swords, blowguns—bazookas? Is there-”

“I _tried_ to convince him to start you tomorrow,” Rachel sighed. The girl’s eyes went wide when Rachel pulled another sword from a large potted fern. “You can join my Extreme Thursday cohort this week, because you’re new, but you’ll develop your own faction and strategy eventually. Or die. Behind me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't work with the wordcount and flow, but I want to establish that yes, the new employee here is Kelly from HR, three-time winner and current holder of Goddard's "Cutest Hostage Taker" award, so, yeah, she learns pretty quickly to hold her own.
> 
> Also, Extreme Thursdays real.


	7. Bernoulli Distribution

Other astronauts smuggled alcohol into space. Captain Bernoulli, who wouldn’t miss drinking but loved to bake, had gotten more creative. Flour was zero-g anathema but bags of pre-prepared cookie dough filled that void, and fresh warm cookies brought a cozy, familiar feeling little else achieved.

They had many practical applications.

“ _Captain_ , Jordan stole my-“

“ _Captain,_ Klein’s accusing me-“

“I’m baking cookies,” Bernoulli said. “You can have some once you work this out honestly between yourselves. _If_ any are still left.”

Pause. “Yes sir!” “Right, Captain!” “I didn’t mean-“

They sometimes needed prompting, but they were a good crew. Cookies helped.


	8. Jordan Matrix

“Anything happening today?” Bernoulli asks, drifting into the comms room.

Jordan flashes a brilliant grin. “It’s a _busy_ day in the Solar neighborhood.” She checks her neat, small notes written on the graph-paper pad that lives at the console. “The comms officer and the engineer of the _Freyja_ broke up-”

“ _Again?”_

“Again! The _Theseus_ is requesting a food resupply— _that_ situation just keeps devolving—and—oh, you’ll like this: your friend on the _Hephaestus_ sent in another complaint about her comms officer. Something about a toothpaste heist.” Jordan pokes Bernoulli’s arm. “Aren’t you _lucky_ you ended up with me, huh?”


	9. Zhang's Proof

“We don’t… _know_ they’re dangerous,” Clarke said.

Commander Zhang rubbed her eyes. “We know less and less every day.” The soft notes of Vivaldi’s _Spring_ wafted through the bridge. It was supposed to calm her down. It didn’t. “I’m starting to _hope_ it’s actually a horrific gas leak.”

“Elizabeth-”

A rustling sound by the door made them both turn. Standing by the open hatch was Smith—one of the Smiths, or, one of the things that thought it was Smith—his expression vacant, his eyes glowing, his voice echoing, “THIS—IS—THE—TECHNOLOGY?”

Slowly, Commander Zhang reached for her gun.


	10. Pryce and Carter’s Deep-Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains post-finale spoilers

Miranda trails her fingertips over some incomprehensible and useless advice about leprechauns. “I wrote this?”

Minkowski’s voice is tenser than she probably thinks it is. “You did.”

“Was it… intended seriously? It’s nonsense.”

“It saved my life on multiple occasions,” Minkowski says, defensiveness like a reflex. “Ironic, yes, I know.”

Miranda also knows. She’s been told enough to recognize why Minkowski always approaches her warily, like she’s a coiled snake, all friendly overtures like this forced and stilted. Miranda doesn’t keep pushing. Instead she just says “Hmm,” and turns the page, tracing esoteric messages from a life she doesn’t remember.


End file.
